


Veteran Of The Psychic Wars

by Winnie_Chester



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Horror, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-28
Updated: 2015-03-28
Packaged: 2018-03-20 02:18:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3632949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winnie_Chester/pseuds/Winnie_Chester
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set after the end of Season Five. </p><p>Dean takes care of Sam after something happens that Sam can't remember. </p><p>"Sam regained consciousness slowly, to Dean humming Blue Öyster Cult softly and running his fingers through Sam’s hair.   It was something Dean used to do when they were younger, whenever Sam was sick or scared. Sam had always loved it, it was the reason he wore his hair the way he did. It always made him feel better. "</p>
            </blockquote>





	Veteran Of The Psychic Wars

Sam regained consciousness slowly, to Dean humming Blue Öyster Cult softly and running his fingers through Sam’s hair. It was something Dean used to do when they were younger, whenever Sam was sick or scared. Sam had always loved it, it was the reason he wore his hair the way he did. It always made him feel better. 

Dean hadn’t done it in a very very long time.

Sam felt terrible, exhausted and battered and bruised on the outside, dread and fear curled up in his chest like ice. He couldn’t remember ever feeling worse. The air smelled like sweat and copper. He opened his eyes.

Sam’s head was in Dean’s lap, and Dean was staring straight ahead at the motel room wall, jaw tight and forehead creased. It was dark, the room lit only by the single lamp between the beds.

“Dean?” Sam’s tongue felt thick and swollen in his mouth. He wondered how long he’d been out. 

Dean started, looked down, fingers stilling in Sam’s hair. “Hey Sammy. Welcome back. How ya doin’?”

“I’m okay, I think.” Sam searched his brain for an explanation—there must have been a hunt, it must have gone very badly—but he couldn’t remember anything. “What happened, are you okay?”

Dean smiled. “I’m fine kiddo. But glad to see you awake. Do you remember anything?”

 _Nothing._ Sam remembered nothing. He felt panic start to claw up his spine.

‘What happened? I don’t—I can’t—“ Sam grabbed Dean’s shirt sleeve. 

“Easy there, Tiger. It’s okay. You are okay, I’m okay. I gottcha. Better this way.” Dean shushed soothingly, untangling Sam’s fingers from his sleeve, and threading his own fingers with Sam’s instead, using the other hand to continue carding through Sam’s hair. Sam felt his muscles unclench and the panic ebbed. _If Dean said it was okay, it was okay._ Sam closed his eyes again, let himself relax under his brother’s touch.

***

The next time Sam woke up, he was in bed, and Dean was calling his name. 

“Wake up for me, okay Sammy? You gotta eat something for me, okay?” Sam wanted more than anything to slide back into unconsciousness, but he’d do anything for Dean, so he forced himself awake. 

Dean was sitting in a chair pulled up next to Sam’s bed. Sunlight filtered through the curtains. He was holding a takeout bag. 

“I’ve got Gatorade and grilled cheese and codeine, if you want it. Or vicodin?” 

Sam slowly pulled himself into sitting position, hissing, feeling as though he was made entirely from bruises. “Fuck, what happened to me? Did I get hit by a truck?”

Dean smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Nearly. “ He handed Sam the Gatorade and held up two bottles. “Vicodin?” 

“Codeine.” Vicodin was harder to come by and made Sam cloudy. He certainly hurt enough for vicodin, but he tried to only take it for things that required motel room surgery. 

Dean shook out two, frowned and shook out two more and handed them to Sam. Sam swallowed them gratefully. 

“But now you gotta eat something, so you don’t fuck up your stomach lining.” Dean dug around in the bag and handed Sam the grilled cheese wrapped in wax paper. 

Sam wanted nothing more than to go back to sleep until the drugs kicked in, but he unwrapped the sandwich and took a bite. If Dean wanted him to eat, he’d eat. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.” Dean watched Sam take a few more bites and then padded over to the dresser and found the remote control and clicked through the channels as Sam finished eating. “Soaps or infomercials?” 

Sam made a face. “Neither.” He tossed the wax paper towards the bedside table, and felt something pull unhappily in his shoulder. What had he done to it? “You wanna tell me what happened yet?”

“Nope. “ Dean clicked off the TV. “Do you need anything?” 

Sam felt the codeine start to smooth everything out. “Will you read to me?” It was a request Sam hadn’t made of Dean since he was thirteen or fourteen, but it was something Dean had done for him once, when Sam was having trouble sleeping. They had read The Hobbit that way. 

Dean’s face softened. “Uh, I haven’t got anything but the paper. Or lore.”

“Paper is fine.” It didn’t really matter what Dean read, Sam just wanted his brother’s voice to wash over him for a while. Dean grabbed the paper and started to read.

Sam closed his eyes and leaned his head against the headboard.

***  
The light was different and the shadows longer when Sam woke up again. Dean wasn’t next to him anymore, and the shower was running.

“Dean?”

Dean poked his head out of the bathroom. “Hey. What do you think about a shower? It might feel good.”

Sam was fairly certain nothing would feel nearly as good as lying in this bed forever and not moving, but he sat up and slowly swung his legs off the bed. “Okay.”

“Need help?”

“Probably.” 

Dean crossed the room and slipped under his brother’s arm and helped him up. Sam’s head swam for a moment at the change in altitude. 

The shower was hot, steam filling the small bathroom. Sam let Dean help pull his shirt over his head—Sam had done something bad to his shoulder, hopefully it would turn out to just be a strain—and Dean winced in sympathy at all the bruising on Sam’s chest. It looked liked he’d been kicked in the ribs repeatedly.

Maybe he had. Sam still couldn’t remember what had happened.

Dean leaned against the door frame. “Want me to stay?” 

Sam always wanted to shower with his brother, but that wasn’t what Dean was asking. “Think I’ll be okay. Just don’t go far?” 

“’Course not.” Dean sat down on the carpet outside the bathroom and leaned against the door frame. “You oughtta know better than to think you can get rid of me.”

***

Dean had been right about the shower—he’d had enough practice taking care of injured or sick Sam that his instincts were pretty much always on the mark.

Dean had ordered pizza while Sam was showering, and they’d eaten sitting next to each other on Sam’s bed, while half watching Free Willy on the fuzzy TV. They’d seen it a half dozen times before-- Dean had actually snuck them both in to see it in theaters the summer it came out. It was a nice memory.

Dean had given Sam more painkillers, and hadn’t objected when Sam had leaned his head against Dean’s shoulder and fallen asleep.

***  
Dean was still in Sam’s bed, fully dressed, TV flickering, when the drugs wore off and Sam’s shoulder woke him up. The other bed was covered in discarded pizza boxes and all their stuff. 

Sam nudged his brother, “Dean, go to bed,” and made his way slowly to the bathroom to pee. When he got back Dean was still in Sam’s bed, but had kicked off his shoes and jeans and gotten under the covers. 

Moving the duffel bags was far beyond Sam’s capabilities at the moment, so Sam crawled in next to his brother. They hadn’t shared a bed in ages, certainly not since they both hit six feet, but despite the lack of room it was still incredibly comforting, familiar and healing. Sam lay still for several minutes basking in it, before rolling over onto his good side, back to Dean, and falling asleep.

***  
It was early the next time Sam woke up. His shoulder was still sore, but otherwise he felt unimaginably better. 

Sometime during the night Dean had thrown an arm over Sam. Sam allowed himself a guilty moment to enjoy it before he tried to pull away. Dean hadn’t done it on purpose. 

But Dean’s refused to let go when Sam tried to slip out. “Don’t go,” Dean breathed, half asleep.

Sam felt his body respond in very un-brotherly way. Dean clearly didn’t know who he was holding. “Dean, let go.” 

“No. Stay here, Sammy.” Dean buried his face in Sam’s neck and Sam felt electricity run down his spine. 

Sam had wanted this forever.

“Dean. Wake up.” 

“I’m awake, Sam.” Dean’s arm tightened and Sam could feel his brother’s erection pushing against his back. Dean kissed Sam’s neck and Sam shivered. 

Sam never got what he wanted. Why should this be the first?

“Dean—“

“Shut up, Sam.” Dean continued kissing Sam’s neck, and moved on to suck Sam’s ear lobe, sliding his hand gently down Sam’s side, skimming over bruises and – _oh god, what was happening? This couldn’t possibly—_

Sam rolled over to face Dean, shoulder forgotten and Dean kissed him, and the world melted away. Sam had never been so happy. He kissed back, licking into Dean’s mouth. How could he possibly resist? It was everything he’d ever—

And suddenly Dean was gone, the motel room was gone and Sam was lying on a stone floor, freezing, the cold deep in his bones, his shoulder throbbing. 

His shoulder with a hook through it. 

Someone laughed, and Sam leapt to his feet, searched his pockets for a weapon. _Nothing._

“Welcome home!”

It all came rushing back. Sam was in the cage, it seemed like Sam had always been in the cage. 

“Did you have a nice little mental vacation?” Lucifer. It was Lucifer talking to him. There had been no motel room, no Dean.

Sam felt it like his heart was being torn out. “Why?” 

Lucifer came out of the shadows, and stood next to Sam.

“Because, genius, toys aren’t fun to play with when they are broken,” Lucifer reached out to touch Sam, but Sam pulled away violently. “I gotta put you back together so I can take you apart!”

Lucifer grabbed Sam’s shoulder and removed the hook, then healed Sam. “See, I can get all the physical pieces back in working order easy, but that alone wouldn’t quite make you whole, would it, Humpty Dumpty?” 

Sam sagged to his knees. It hadn’t been real. _Of course it hadn't been real!_ Hadn’t been Dean. Sam hated himself for thinking for a moment it had. 

He’d never see his brother again. Sam felt something crucial rip inside him. 

“See? What did I tell you? So much more fun this way!”


End file.
